The SGC and the Pizza Boy
by Meredith T. Tasaki
Summary: [2] The President makes a visit to the SGC, causing Jack much stress, Daniel much humiliation, and the former pizza boy abject panic. One in a series of very long days...
1. The Unforgivable Slipup

Summary: A pizza boy sees too much. Chaos ensues.  
Rating: Mmm... This part's probably PG, but let's go PG-13 to be safe, for language and baseless, nonsensical allegations.  
Disclaimer: Stargate: SG-1 does not belong to me. Nor does (laughs to self) "Say You Love Me", the Fleetwood Mac song. I just couldn't resist.  
Notes: Season, eh, whatever this season is, I think it's eight maybe? 2004, fall? I'm working on a couple more fics in this vein, but I don't know if they'll be as funny, and they might get a little... indulgent, self-serving, I don't know. But hey. Just a fic. Can't do any lasting harm. I hope.

(-)

"Okay," said Brigadeer General Jack O'Neill. "There are, of course, a few questions I would like to ask."

The people arrayed on the other side of his desk fidgeted. "Of course, sir," said Dr. Morrissey.

"The first and most obvious one being- who in the HELL ordered pizza!"

Daniel raised a hand. "No, no, that actually wasn't their fault, it seems."

"How the hell could it not be their fault!"

"No one in the SGC ordered it," Daniel answered. "It was, you know, the people upstairs. Who still think we're doing deep-space... something or other."

"You can't remember our cover story?"

"Can you read this?" Daniel held out a photograph.

"Well, no."

"Then stop complaining. Apparently a guard up there ordered a pizza."

"Two pizzas," someone corrected.

"For a group of people," someone elaborated.

"If ANYONE starts telling me the toppings, I'll start to throw things. Okay? Now, since Daniel seems to have appointed himself spokesman, and I know he can tell a story, to the next question. What the hell was that thing?"

"You seriously don't read anything you sign, do you?" Daniel started to grin. "This presents so many possibilities..."

"Daniel."

"SG-7 brought it back from planet

"

"Don't tell me the planet, I do not care about the number and I'll never remember it."

Daniel sighed. "Otherwise known as Planet Jacko, or 'The one with the purple bananas'."

"Purple bananas?"

"Yes."

"Sweet."

"Apparently they're actually very bitter, but- that's besides the point."

"As is this whole conversation."

"The thing was an animal," Daniel said. "It looks... Well. Any suggestions, anyone?"

"Almost entirely unlike a cat," someone volunteered.

"Hey, I read that book," Jack said.

"Really? Maybe I can, well, leave, General, sir?"

"Wow. You're funny."

"That's a no?"

"Yep. Siddown. Any more helpful descriptions, anyone?"

"It's purple," someone else said. "Couple feet tall, looks a little like a dog except obviously not."

"There's a blue spot in the middle of its back," Daniel added, "it's covered in something that looks like fur but apparently isn't."

"What is it, then?"

"You'd really have to ask the biologists. They were using all that scientific, medical terminology. I'm guessing the hairs are hollow, and aren't made up of whatever hair is usually made out of, and, possibly something about venom. They were talking very quickly and I wasn't actually listening, so..."

"Okay, we're past the point where I stopped caring."

"I surmised as much, yes."

"Next obvious question," Jack said. "How the hell did it get out!"

"It wasn't venom, actually," Daniel said. "I thought it was venom when I was trying to hear all of the Greek, but it was actually acid."

"What was actually acid?"

Daniel shrugged. "I have no idea. Esentially, the creature used some sort of acid to burn through its cage. The biologists are working on it now. They seem to be very happy and fufilled about it. It's a little bit abnormal."

"...Raise your hand if you saw the irony there."

The fearful group raised their hands.

"Irony?" Daniel blinked.

"Ah, don't worry your little head about it."

Daniel stared at him for a moment. "This is sexual harassment," he said, indignant.

"...Excuse me!"

"You heard me." Daniel leaned against the wall, pouting. "It's in all the seminars. I could sue you or something now."

"...Okay, I don't know what that was, but it never happened."

"Yes, sir," a couple of people agreed.

"Next obvious question," Jack said. "Omitting the question about how Dr. Jackson should maybe check his allergy medicine for some sort of narcotic or hallucinogen contamination."

"Hey!"

"Been using your word-of-the-day calendar, sir?" someone quipped.

"Been hankering for a nice vacation cleaning toilets in Antartica?" Jack snapped, copying his inflection.

"Uh..." Daniel said, raising a hand again. "He is, sadly, sort of mine. Archaeology student."

"Yeah," Jack said, "where the hell do you find these people, anyway?"

"Generally," Daniel said, "drinking heavily in bars near anthropology conventions, or else looking too closely at the wrong things during digs."

"I'm not going to just sit here and be insulted," the archaeologist said.

"Yeah, actually, you are," Jack said.

"Two years you've had to learn Goa'uld," Daniel said, "and you've hardly gotten past 'kree'. I am very bitter about that."

"Why take everything out on me?" the archaeologist groused.

"Because you do a truly startling number of idiotic things," Daniel answered. "Which is not my fault."

"Anyway," Jack said, "the next obvious question. How the hell did the thing nearly get off the base!"

"It was shooting acid at us, sir," a Major (Harris, if Jack wasn't mistaken) explained.

"Acid," Jack said.

"Yes, the steam coming from the hole the acid was etching in the wall sort of distracted us, sir," Harris said, seemingly without sarcasm. "Johnson got burned on the leg. And also the thing was really fast, sir."

"So it got to an upper level," Jack said, "where a receptionist was paying a delivery boy for pizza."

"Yes."

"And the pizza boy saw it."

"For whatever reason, it liked him," Daniel said, with a faint smile.

"It was licking his hand when we caught up to it, sir," Harris said. "So yes, I'd say he saw it."

Jack paused. "Well, damn."

"Yes," Daniel said.

"Now what?"

"Sam's interrogating him," Daniel said. Then smiled. "Or attempting to. It's- really sort of sad, really, but it's also very funny."

"Why?" Jack asked, warily.

"Well... you sort of have to be there."

"Good. 'Cause I'm going there." Jack got up; the still-frightened accused jumped up as well, some saluting. "And you all? Go away."

There were a few heartfelt "Thank you, sir!"s as they rushed to obey.

"And file your reports!" Jack bellowed after them.

"This way," Daniel said, and walked out.

"I know where they are," Jack said, following him anyway.

"Well, I can never be sure what you know and what you don't know, because apparently you're in the habit of not reading anything that anyone puts on your desk, particularly not important memoranda and reports."

"Well..." Jack said. "Can't really deny that."

"No, you can't."

"Someone usually tells me if it's important, anyway."

"You just have to make it hard for everybody, don't you."

"Well, I'm sure you'll find a way to slip everything in somewhere."

"In my sexual harassment lawsuit."

"Uh, Daniel? In a hall? With people walking around? And not the time?"

"They say I'm clever," Daniel said airly. "I'll find something, I suppose, but you should still just read the things."

"Yeah, but then I'd have to, you know, read them."

"Given that everyone knows you don't read the reports, they might make interesting reading."

"What does that mean?"

"The tone might be a little less formal."

"Ah."

"They might say vicious things about your mother."

"What!"

"Or that could be just me."

"You did not."

Daniel smiled. "Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

Jack paused to appreciate Daniel's cunning. "Still not reading them."

"Yes, you can believe that if you want to." Daniel, still smiling, opened the door and made an extravagant gesture, motioning Jack in.

"-anything else, let me please just remind you one more time," Sam said, sounding slightly frayed. "This is a top-secret military installation. If you saw anything, we will have to draft you. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," said the pizza boy, a skinny, young-looking kid with a number of fading acne scars.

"Now," Sam said. "Did you see anything unusual when you were dropping off the pizza?"

"Shoot yeah! There was this purple dog thing, it was real weird, an' part of it was blue. An' its tongue was orange! Orange! I thought maybe some weird guy had dyed his dog's hair, but no. Damn. Way. I told you this already. Why d'you keep asking me that?"

"For an hour," Daniel said quietly, even though they couldn't be heard through the one-way mirror, "she's been trying to get him to say he didn't see anything so he can just go home. For an hour, he's been completely oblivious to it."

"...Wow, is that ever a good sign." Jack sighed, watching Sam struggle to gather the spirit to lift her head off of the table.

"Yeah," Daniel said, "we get our archaeologists this way as well. Our system is evidently deeply flawed."

"Okay," Sam said, finally lifting her head back up. "We have to draft you now."

The pizza boy stared at her, uncomprehending.

"You get to be in the Air Force," Sam said.

"Don't you have to, like, sign up for that or something?" the pizza boy questioned.

"No," Sam sighed, "because you saw something you can't be allowed to see. We may send you off to Basic Training, but we'll have to find a job for you somewhere in the SGC."

"The what?"

"Top-secret military installation. This place."

"Uh, okay."

"So you're in the Air Force now."

The pizza boy considered that. "How much does it pay an hour?"

"Uh..." Sam turned to the guard.

"Uh..." the guard said. "I dunno, been a while since I started out. Depends on what you do, too. Ten, fifteen bucks an hour maybe?"

"Oh hell yeah," the pizza boy said, breaking into a grin.

Jack bowed his head. "The Earth is just doomed, now."

"It took you this long to notice?" Daniel smiled.

"Maybe we'll have a vacancy in the kitchens?..."

Sam opened the door and walked in. "Been here long?"

"Long enough," Jack said. "Great. Just great. Why isn't there a midpoint, anyway? Why's it either the best and the brightest or...?"

"Hey," Sam remonstrated. "Go easy on the kid. You haven't read his file."

"What's it say in his file?"

"His mother was, well, for lack of a more accurate phrase, basically white trash. When his parents divorced, he split his time between his father's house, his mother's trailer, and his grandparents' house. Mostly the latter. Then he moved up here, looking for, a change of pace, a job opportunity, I presume. The company went bust and he's still here."

"So, what?" Jack said. "We send him off to boot camp, he tells his folks he enrolled in the Air Force, we stick him in the kitchens until the SGC comes out? He just... stays here now?"

Sam shrugged. "If it's any consolation, sir, he may be right. It may be just as good, it may even be better, than what he had."

"Can I use him in Archaeology?" Daniel asked hopefully.

Sam flipped to the pizza boy's school records and winced. "Uh, maybe to carry things. Maybe. If they're... not too fragile. I- hate to say that, but you didn't see what the pizzas looked like."

"Yeah?" Daniel said.

"They were all... folded." She put her hands out, face down, and scrunched them together to demonstrate.

"Damnnation," said Daniel. He paused. "You know, that actually might be an improvement."

Sam handed the folder, still opened to the school records, to Daniel.

"...Okay, well, never mind," Daniel said, and snapped the file shut.

"The kitchen staff can have him?" Jack asked, slightly amused.

"Well, I hate to be discriminatory, and after all, grades aren't an absolute indicator of potential, but- yeah."

"Somehow I figured."

"So," Sam sighed, "we're stuck with him. At least the worst is over."

Jack and Daniel moaned.

"Never!" Jack cried. "Colonel, you NEVER say that! Fate goes out of its way to prove you wrong! Cause's Fate's all touchy and twisty and likes seeing people suffer!"

"What else could happen?" Sam asked.

"Here." Jack fished a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Write down the date and time you said that."

Sam took the paper, unfolded it, and turned it over. "HEL-lo."

"On second thought-" Jack snatched the scrap of paper back.

Daniel looked from one to the other. "What?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing."

Jack knew his luck wouldn't last that long, and sure enough, Sam burst into an evil grin.

"I swear," Jack said, "it really was nothing."

"..." Daniel did not look like he was buying it. "Well, it doesn't matter. I can subpoena it in my sexual harassment suit."

"Your WHAT!"

"He's on drugs," Jack explained.

"I am not."

"Antihistamines?"

"Nice cop-out there."

"Thank you."

"Where did this come from?" Sam asked, quickly becoming amused.

"Look, it was the debriefing," Jack explained, "it was a nonsensical little phrase he took completely out of context, that's all."

"What was the phrase?" Sam asked, dubious.

"Uh, 'Don't worry your pretty little head about it', I think."

"Ah-HA!" Daniel cried. "You didn't say 'pretty' the first time! Now I know this is harassment!"

Sam bent her head over the file, laughing, slightly red.

"Wha- Daniel! Seriously! What drug is it, that you're on? Can you OD on allergy meds, is that what it is? Maybe we should get your medicine cabinet tested?"

"And now you're trying to cover it up by sabotaging my credibility as a witness," Daniel said, nodding sagely. "It's exactly like it is in the seminars. I should report you."

"Daniel."

"No, no, no, I'm not going to let you intimidate me. I'm going to tell the whole world."

"Daniel!"

"'Cause when the lovin' starts and the lights go down..." Daniel sang.

Sam lost her balance and fell against the wall, laughing helplessly, flushing.

"You see!" Jack cried. "He's on drugs! He's SINGING for gods' sakes!"

Daniel was laughing too. "And there's not another livin' soul around..."

"STOP thaaat!" Jack cried, though the prankster in him was beginning to appreciate the joke.

"You woo me until the sun comes up," Daniel sang as he walked to the door, "And you saa-aay that you love me..."

The door closed behind him. Sam had actually sunk to the floor laughing.

"It's not funny," Jack lied.

"Of-" Sam couldn't stop laughing. "Of, of course not, sir." She started trying to compose herself. She glanced up at Jack. She immediately burst into laughter again. "I'm sorry!" she cried. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's a girl thing I guess, I-" She dissolved into laughter again. "I..."

Jack stood there, vaguely irritated, waiting for her to stop laughing. After a few minutes, she did.

"Uh, s-sorry, sir," she said, standing up and trying to keep her last giggles clamped down. "It was- it was funny, that's all."

"Sexual harassment suit," Jack muttered. "I'll show him a sexual harassment suit. What he's been doing, that's sexual harassment."

"Except that he doesn't outrank you." Jack glanced at her. "Sir."

"Well, I don't technically outrank him, now do I?"

"Well, yes."

"...I do?"

"Yeah, you do. Technically."

"...Wow."

"Yeah, you probably should read all those things we put on your desk. You might learn something."

"Me? Never." He held open the door for her and followed her out.

There was a brief silence in the interrogation room.

"Well," said the guard, coughing a little. "I'll get someone to get you some coffee, or a soda or something."

"This kind of stuff happen a lot?" the pizza boy asked.

"Well... 'Pends on what you mean by 'this kind of stuff'. This specifically? No. Seriously weird crap? Oh yeah."

The pizza boy grinned. "Man, this is gonna be the coolest job ever."

(-) 


	2. A Visit From the CiC

Summary: The President visits the SGC. And causes many people great amounts of trouble. Particularly Jack, Daniel, and the kitchen staff.  
Rating: PG-13, language. Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 does not belong to me. Nor does the "Infinite Improbability Drive" though that's made pretty clear. A brief reference to the late, great Douglas Adams, as it happens. If you haven't read anything by him, I suggest going by the library and checking out a copy of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"excellent book. Butoff -topic. I do happen to own Mrs. Appleton, James Hatfield, Corell, Aster, Randolph, the unnamed doctor, and my strange and probably apocryphal portrayal of the President.  
Notes: Yeah, I'm taking Latin, how'd you guess? And wow, looking at that list of OCs... And more to come... And I should probably start coming up with some first names. I know Sam and Teal'c don't show up all that much, but... I guess I can't do much about it.

(-)

"Again?"

"Yes, Daniel, again."

"Didn't he just come?"

"Yes, Daniel, he did."

"Just a few months ago?"

"Yes, Daniel."

"And now he's coming again?"

"Yes, Daniel."

"But why?"

"Because you made such a good impression on him last time."

Daniel flushed. "That was Randolph's fault! It was completely innocent, I swear!"

"Irregular somethin'-or-other, yeah, yeah, yeah. Heard it."

"I'm telling the truth! Come on, do you really think I would say that? In front of the PRESIDENT?"

"I dunno," Jack said thoughtfully. "You've been here a while. You've been dead an awful lot. And everyone has their limits."

"Jack," Daniel said, "if I was going to have a nervous breakdown and insult an important leader, I would A, not deny it later, B, do so more clearly, and C, not do it to the President of the United States. It'd probably be Kinsey or a Tok'ra or someone who I, you know, actually have some sort of grudge against."

"True," Jack admitted.

"Thank you."

"Still doesn't explain why you were saying dirty words in front of the President."

"They weren't dirty words! And the President wasn't there at the time!"

"He was there. And I know a dirty word when I hear one."

"Apparently not."

"Hey, I distinctly heard the word"

"It was Latin. They were words in Latin."

"So it was the Latin word for"

"NO! I'm telling you, they were the four irregular Latin imperatives."

"...So they were dirty words in Latin."

"Dammit, Jack!"

"Whatever." Jack shrugged. "Not my business anyway."

Daniel closed his eyes for a few moments, muttering very specific curses against Randolph under his breath. He opened them again. "Seriously, Jack. Why is he coming here again?"

Jack shrugged. "Because he wants to make my life miserable, that's why."

"JACK"

"I don't know! He didn't give a reason. Said he'd be in the area. I think he just likes looking at the Stargate. And complicating my life."

"How the hell does this complicate your life?"

"Because. I have to get all the slackers on this base in order, I have to get everything cleaned up, I have to keep you from saying any more obscenities in front of him"

"THEY WERE NOT OBSCENITIES!"

"Whatever. AND I have to get the damn mess to actually cook something edible for once!"

"Their pie's pretty good. And I thought he said last time that he wanted to have real military food the next time he came."

"We can't just give him pie, Daniel. And there's no way in hell I'm letting him eat military food. I'm not gonna be court-martialed for killing the commander-in-chief!"

Daniel blinked. "I didn't think it was that bad."

"Yeah," Jack said, "there are two reasons for that. For one thing, you're usually too busy trying to solve the great mysteries of the universe to pay any real attention to what you're eating. Secondly, when you first came here, at least, you'd been living on cold ramen and chicken soup straight from the can for months."

Daniel conceded that point. "But I still know what good food is, and I don't think it's that bad."

"That's 'cause Mrs. Appleton always gives you the bestnah. The least crappy portions of everything."

Daniel blinked. "Mrs. Appleton? That sweet lady with the apron?"

"SWEET? Daniel, have you been visiting parallel universes again! The woman's an old hag! She scares children! She hits airmen with ladles! She wouldn't give her grandkid a piece of candy if he was starving on the streets!"

"Oh, that's just uncalled for."

"Except you don't see it 'cause you're oblivious and she likes you."

"Oblivious."

"You better believe it. Anyway, what the hell were we talking about? Aagh. The food here sucks and I'm not gonna feed it to the commander-in-chief. Right."

"Okay."

"How the hell do these conversations get so off-track, anyway?"

"They may make sense from higher dimensions."

"What. Ever."

"Wow, when did you become a sixteen-year-old California schoolgirl?"

"I dunno, when you became... uh... a dork."

"That was pretty much genetically hardwired into me from conception."

"Okay, so I had trouble with the comeback."

"You heard that James Hatfield is working in the kitchens now?"

"Who?"

"James Hatfield. You know, the pizza boy, who saw the purple dog creature."

"Oh, yeah. Him. I'm kinda hoping to forget all about him. 'Cause he can only bring trouble."

Daniel shrugged. "He's been there for a couple weeks now, and everything's been fine."

"Wait, a couple weeks?" Jack snapped his fingers. "THAT explains the fire alarm!"

"Fire alarm?"

"You weren't here. We damn near had to evacuate the entire base. Turns out someone burned something in the kitchens. It must have been Hatfield."

"It might not have been."

"That's a hell of a coincidence."

"Stranger things have happened."

"Not many."

"Six every day before breakfast."

"Wha? Oh, come on. You know it was him."

"...Possibly. But you can't blame him. Has he ever cooked anything before?"

Jack shrugged. "I wouldn't know. But still. He almost evacuated the enitre facility! This kid is trouble!"

"Didn't I accidentally evacuate the enitre facility once...?"

"Yeah," Jack said, "but you're useful."

"And he's not?"

"Apparently! I mean, you're smart, and you always fix everything that goes wrong around you, so that's okay. But he's working in the kitchens, and who's gonna fix what he does?"

"You?"

"You're damn right me! Which is why this sucks!"

"Oh, so that's the point."

"Yeah." Jack checked his watch. "Am I supposed to be doing anything right now?"

"Yes," Daniel said. "Pre-mission briefing with SG-7. And, now that the President's coming, you probably have more trouble as well."

"So I should probably get going, then."

"Yes."

"Okay." He departed, leaving Daniel to wonder for the seventeenth time if the man would ever learn to read things on his own. Probably not, Daniel decided. It would make everyone else's lives far too easy.

(-)

"So apparently last time this happened, Dr. Jackson said something obscene about the President," Corell said.

"Really?" Hatfield asked, looking up from his mop.

"Yeah, I was there," Aster chimed in. "In French or something. I dunno what it was, exactly, but it was really disgusting."

"Wow," Hatfield said. "He didn't seem like the kinda guy who would say stuff like that."

"Because he's not," snapped Mrs. Appleton, swooping into the kitchen to get some more Jell-o to set out. "He said Randolph tricked him, and I believe him! That Randolph always has been a miserable, dirt-eating little bastard."

"Well, yeah," Corell admitted.

"Is that the guy who called me a, uh, drunken redneck retard?" Hatfield asked.

"That's the one," Aster said.

"Well," he reasoned, "if it's his word against Dr. Jackson's, I'm not gonna believe him."

"True," Aster conceded. "I wouldn't trust that little bitch as far as I could throw him. He always asks me how many potatoes I peeled today."

"When he knows you graduated from potatoes three months ago," Mrs. Appleton said sardonically as she left.

"Old hag," Aster muttered.

"I wonder what's wrong with Randolph, anyway?" Hatfield mused.

"Oh, he's totally convinced that if he hadn't seen, uh, whatever the hell it was he saw, and gotten drafted into the SGC, he'd be a world-famous archaeologist by now and his brilliant thesis or whatever would've gotten him a book deal, and that and his quote-un-quote irresistible good looks would have gotten him on Oprah and..." Corell waved a hand dismissively.

"Good looks." Aster snorted. "Little bitch could stop a train."

"Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?" Aster said, unsure.

"Whatever."

"So he hates everyone 'cause he's trapped here," Hatfield said, brows furrowed.

"Uh-huh."

"And I'm sure that useless little grub will try and smear Dr. Jackson's good name yet again!" Mrs. Appleton fumed. "That fiend is only useful for human experimentation. He has no place here, the lazy good-for-nothing son of a" She left again.

"So this is really the President. Of America?" Hatfield asked again.

"Yes!" the others cried.

"We wouldn't lie to you!" Aster said.

"I wouldn't lie to you..." Corell corrected.

"It's not a prank. The President. The one who's President now."

"Of course," Aster said, "all the old ones are thrown to a pack of wild dogs after the next one comes in, didn't you know that?"

"Really?"

"NO," Corell said.

"Right, I thought he was lying." Hatfield gave his mop a couple more pushes. "But why'd the President want to come here?"

Aster and Corell looked at each other and shrugged.

"Something about that big round thingy?" Aster suggested.

"Maybe they like archaeology..." Corell shook his head.

"Wait, they travel to other planets from here, right?"

The others nodded.

"So that's gotta be it, don't it?"

"I guess," Corell said. "After a few years here, it all seems so, so normal..."

"I mean, I've been to so many of Dr. Jackson's funeral services that it ain't funny," Aster said. "I don't think they even bury him anymore. I heard that chick from the Legal department say she's never doing the paperwork to bring 'im back from the dead ever again."

"You gotta do paperwork!" Hatfield exclaimed. "An' that's all!"

"No, no!" Corell said. "I mean after he's been declared dead, they gotta do a crapload of paperwork to get the government an' the credit-card companies and stuff to put it into their computers that he's still alive. And it's hard to do, because once they enter you as dead, they make it so you stay dead so nobody can change it and pretend to be you and get, like, credit cards or something. Though come to think of it, if you're dead, why would you care?"

"I dunno," Hatfield said thoughtfully.

"When'd she say that?"

"I dunno, couldn't have been more'n one or two deaths into it. Hey, Hatfield, did you know they got a policy now that they wait ten business days, if you die here, before they classify you as dead?"

"No. Because of him?"

"Yep," Corell said.

"But it's a good idea," Aster said. "Once, SG-5 went missing, and we thought they were dead, but six days later, they showed up again."

"Wow," said Hatfield. "Does that happen a lot?"

"It seems like it," Corell said, "but I think mostly they stay dead. Dr. Jackson's just, really weird. In a good way!" he quickly added, as he felt Mrs. Appleton's glare at his back.

"I just got lectured by what's-his-name," Mrs. Appleton said. "Apparently we are to make something edible for the commander-in-chief, because he's too good for our food. Damn elitist."

"Edible?" Corell said. "They usually eat it quick enough."

"Yes, but 'Soldiers will eat anything, Mrs. Appleton, you know that. Our commander-in-chief is delicate, like a wittle flowa. We can't have you serving any of your slop!'" She slammed a hand down on the counter. "So I'm gonna go home, and tomorrow I'll try to come up with some pansy-ass French thing that won't be too hard on the President's candy ass. Or maybe he'd prefer McDonald's. Creme Broulet or hell if I know! Damn General Sonuva Bitch!" She stormed out.

"We maybe shouldn't show up tomorrow," Hatfield said.

"Nah," Aster said wearily, "she'd just hunt us down. This is gonna suck."

"Worse than last time?" Corell questioned doubtfully.

"Wanna bet?"

(-)

Daniel looked at Randolph warily. Randolph looked innocently back.

"You don't have some elaborate plan to make me look like a pervert in front of the President again, do you?" Daniel asked.

"No sir. You're far too smart to fall for it twice." Randolph continued his innocent stare.

"Right," Daniel said. He consulted his watch. "He should be on base by now."

"Why aren't you there greeting him with the General and everybody?" Randolph asked innocently.

"Because he thinks I'm a pervert." He glared at him.

"I'm really sorry about that," Randolph said. "It was a strange coincidence. Besides, they know you speak twenty-odd languages! They should have known it must have been something innocent in another language. I really don't know what happened, I tried to explain it to everybody. It's my fault for forgetting something so simple."

"True," Daniel said.

"I really am sorry."

"Okay. Have you, be some freak chance of fate, finished that translation I gave you?"

"Yes." Randolph produced it. Daniel scanned it briefly.

"Over here. You translated this as 'cats belonging to the hovel of this man'?"

"Yes."

"Where did youI'm sorry. Where did you get any of that!"

"'Casa means 'cat', right?"

"No! It means 'hut' or 'shack', and you can't tell me you didn't know that because you have the word 'hovel' right here!"

"Oh. I thought that was 'haec'."

"And why did you translate 'haec' as masculine genitive plural? You HAVE to know that's wrong!"

"I'm sorry, I"

"You majored in the classics!"

"I paid more attention to Greek."

"Why do you insist on pretending to be stupid?"

"I'm serious. I've forgotten this, it's been so long. I thought 'haec' was the masculine genitive plural of 'hic, haec, hoc'."

"It isn't."

"It has to be!"

"It isn't!"

"Are you lying to me!"

"What!"

"Are you lying to me!"

"WhyWHY would I lie to you!" Daniel yelled.

"Because you hate me!"

"I don't hate you!"

"Oh yeah? If it isn't 'haec' then what the hell is it? Answer me that, prettyboy! Answer me that!"

"It's 'horum'!" Daniel yelled.

"Oh, that word does not even exist!"

"Don't you remember! Didn't you used to chant it in class? 'Horum-harum-horum'!"

There was a pause. Daniel closed his eyes.

"Moving on," Jack said from behind him, leading the shocked President down the hall.

"How..." Daniel said. "How the HELL did I fall for that?"

"I really have no idea," Randolph said. "It's a miracle you don't get killed twice as often as you do."

"Great," Daniel said. "Justgreat. Because of my idiotic, USELESS little cockroach of a subordinate, I am going to again have to explain to the people that the word 'horum' does NOT mean a brothel!"

"You should calm down, you'll live longer," Randolph said.

"I am NEVER trusting you again!"

"That's what you said last time," Randolph noted, turning with a contented smile back to his desk. "You really are frighteningly trusting, you know that?"

Daniel fumed and hurried out of the room.

Randolph sometimes wondered if he was pushing his luck with Dr. Jackson, but it was hard for him to take the thought seriously; the little Nancy-boy took crap like no one or nothing he had ever seen. But still, occasionally the thought nagged at him that there was only so much crap that any man could take, and from all accounts, Dr. Jackson had taken several lifetimes' worth.

He always dismissed that thought with the realization that if Dr. Jackson did suddenly blow up in the middle of the SGC, it would be one HELL of a lot of fun.

(-)

"Okay, so here's the plan," Mrs. Appleton said.

"I thought you told us the plan fifteen minutes ago," Hatfield said, confused.

"Really? Huh. Didn't think your memory was that long. I'm impressed, kid. Here's the new plan."

"This is because the thing burned, right?" Aster said.

"Brilliant deduction, genius. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in Carter's science section? The medical section? Maybe working under Dr. Jackson?"

"See, you got a choice," Corell said, "you can keep being sarcastic and waste all the time we got, or you can tell us the new plan."

"Spaghetti," she said.

"Ah yeah," Hatfield said. "But the box here says 'vermichelli'."

"Whatever. Same thing, long noodles, who the hell cares. So I got the noodles special, got the sauce special, got some shrimp"

"Wait, what's special about it?" Corell asked.

"I got it from the supermarket. And you better believe I'm writing it up as a business expense or whatever. Drag that chick from the legal department down here whenever I get a chance, she'll help me. ANYWAY. What we'll do is we'll give everyone else the bulk-rate crap we usually got. We'll give him the store-bought stuff. He says it looks different, we'll tell him it's the lighting."

"What're we doing with the shrimp?" Hatfield asked.

"Put 'em on top of the pasta, it'll make it look fancy. Have to give 'em to everyone else, too, but it can't be avoided. Hop to it, Aster!" She took the cooked shrimp from Hatfield and gave them to Aster.

"You know," he said, "I was watching something on the Discovery Channel or something, and they said that shrimp were like just cockroaches that lived underwater or something."

"You didn't hear that crap on the Discovery Channel," Mrs. Appleton said, scornful of the very concept. "Shrimp aren't roaches! Don't look a damn thing like 'em. Get to work. Hatfield, you'll be out there handing out the plates today."

"Wha?" Hatfield said. "Since when do we give people their plates?"

"Since the President is a candy ass," she snapped. "Now don't screw up!"

"Yes'm!" Hatfield scurried out.

"MAKE SURE YOU CAN TELL THE DIFFERENCE!" she called after him.

(-)

"...I really don't know what's gotten into him, sir. He's usually not like that."

"Just when I'm around," said the President.

"He swears that it's the fault of his subordinate Randolph, and I really do tend to believe him. The boy is a troublemaker, sir."

"Still, how on earth could he contrive to make the man start talking about prostitutes?"

Jack shook his head. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation."

"Hey, the mess hall!" The President brightened. "You remember your promise, don't you? I want to see what it's really like here."

(And the food will tell you, how much exactly?) "Yes, sir, I do."

"Excellent." He pushed open the door.

(Appleton, you witchy old crone, you better have cooked something edible this time, or I'll...)

"Hello, sir! How're you doing, Mr. President, sir?" Hatfield beamed nervously.

Corell, standing behind him, quietly pointed him away from the Secret Service agent to face the actual President. The President, fortunately, had not noticed.

"Very well, thank you, young man!"

"Have some food, Mr. President sir!" Hatfield put the dish on a tray and quickly handed it to him.

"Why, thank you! How'd you get into the service, anyway?"

"Well, sir, I was a pizza delivery boy here when one day I"

"Fascinating!" The President clapped Hatfield on the shoulder. "It was a pleasure to meet you, young man!"

"Uh, it was nice to meet you too, sir!" Hatfield waited until the President had turned his back to whisper, "That was the right dish, right?"

"Yeah," Corell confirmed quietly.

"Shrimp?" Jack muttered, looking over the plates briefly. "Where the hell did she get the budget for shrimp?"

Hatfield thought about answering but Corell shook his head. "Let it be," he said quietly.

"Real Army food, eh?" the President said happily, twirling some vermichelli onto his fork.

"Uh, technically this is the Air Force, butsure. Real army food."

"Yes." He began to eat.

"He buying it?" Aster muttered, coming up behind Hatfield and Corell.

"He doesn't seem real bright," Hatfield commented.

Aster started to snort with laughter. Corell slapped him and the laughter turned into more of a choking sound.

Hatfield suddenly realized that it wasn't Aster who was making the choking sound

"Mr. President!" There was a scuffle, and the sound of chairs being knocked over as everyone rushed to the President's aid.

Hatfield paled. "OH MY GOD, I KILLED THE PRESIDENT! OH MY GOD!"

"Mr President!"

"Get the hell out of the way!" One of the medical staff shoved someone out of the way and grabbed the President's shirt. "It looks likeoh good God. You're kidding me."

"OH MY GOD!" Hatfield cried.

"You KILLED the PRESIDENT?" Mrs. Appleton shrieked, bursting out of the kitchen. "HOLY &, HOW THE did you manage to KILL the PRESIDENT!"

"I swear to God I didn't mean to!" Hatfield cried.

"He's not gonna die!" the doctor yelled. "Stop screaming already and get me that thing I asked for!"

"You're lying to me! You're trying to make me feel better before they shoot me for KILLING THE PRESIDENT!"

"How the HELL did you manage to kill the President!" Mrs. Appleton cried.

"It CAN'T be your fault!" Corell yelled. "If it's ANYONE'S fault it's gotta be HERS, SHE cooked the damn thing!"

"I killed the President!" Hatfield cried, undaunted. Corell slapped himself on the forehead. Mrs. Appleton smacked him considerably harder a moment after.

"HE'S GONNA BE FINE, DAMMIT!" the doctor yelled. "GIVE 'IM SOME AIR HERE!"

Sure enough, the President was sitting up, his wheezing subsiding. "Wha..."

"You're going to be fine, sir," the doctor said. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you eat the pasta when you must know you're allergic to seafood?"

"...Wha?" the President said weakly.

The doctor sighed impatiently. "Why did you eat the pasta when you must know that you're allergic to seafood."

"I thought I could eat around it..."

"Hellfire," the doctor muttered, and left the room.

There was a pause.

"He's not dead?" Hatfield breathed.

It was Aster's turn to smack himself on the forehead, as Corelli reassured him. "He's alive, don't worry 'bout it, see? He's standing up now. He's leaving."

A slow grin came over Hatfield's face. "I DIDN'T KILL THE PRESIDENT!"

"Yeah, that's an accomplishment," Mrs. Appleton muttered. "Must've taken a lot of work."

Everyone in the mess hall breathed a sigh of relief as the Presidentand Mrs. Appletonleft the room.

(-)

"I ain't no damn waitress."

"But you can get us some pie, right?" Jack asked, trying to be as charming as possible.

It didn't work. "I ain't no damn waitress. And you owe me twenty bucks."

"What!"

"So he was allergic to seafood," Daniel said, still trying to believe all that he had heard, "and he ate the shrimp pasta anyway?"

"Evidently," Teal'c said, calmly. "I still do not understand why a civilian is allowed to have ultimate charge of the military in this country. It seems a foolish move."

"Hallelujiah," Mrs. Appleton said.

"I asked you a question, why do I suddenly owe you twenty bucks?"

"I had to make the food special! Out of my own wallet!"

"Oh God," Sam sighed.

"See," Daniel said, "basically I think they were afraid that the military might otherwise attempt to take over the government. It happens fairly often."

"Still," Teal'c said, "it seems a strange order of priorities."

Daniel shrugged. "I suppose they built the country more to handle peace than war. They were probably too concerned with trying to make democracy work at all than with smaller details like that. Nobody thought it would work, you know. Nobody had even dared try it after seeing the way it had worked in Athens. Greece may have been the birthplace of democracy, but it nearly killed it as well. Often"

"Then the military owes you twenty dollars," Jack said, "not me."

"Oh yeah? What's the big difference?"

"Then why do you not consider military experience as a necessary quality in a President?" Teal'c asked.

"Well, it's always nice, butI guess we like to think we won't be going to war."

Teal'c considered that. "Understandable. But still unfortunate. It seems unthinkable that the man who is ultimately in charge of such a large military force should be allowed to be such a..."

Mrs. Appleton brightened. "Candy-ass?" she suggested hopefully.

"...I would not use that word... But it does seem somewhat appropriate, yes."

Mrs. Appleton beamed. "Me too! I can't believe anyone actually voted for that dumbass nancy-boy! The guy's in charge of the 82nd Airborne for cripes sake! That can't be legal!"

"Lady!" Jack interuppted. "Pie?"

"I'm not your servant."

"Actually, you technically are."

"Aw, hell," she said, and stormed away.

"Ever have one of those moments where you feel like you're the only sane person you know?" Sam asked rhetorically.

Jack sputtered.

"Yes," said Teal'c and Daniel.

"All the time," Daniel added.

Sam shook her head. "How... can you come up with the perfect comeback to that the same day you talked about brothels in front of the President? It justbaffles me completely."

"I was NOT," Daniel said lowly, "talking about brothels. I was not talking about prostitutes or promiscious women in any way. You all know that Randolph's an ass. Why, why, why won't you believe me!"

Mrs. Appleton tenderly laid a plate with a huge slice of pecan pie in front of Daniel. She put another, somewhat smaller piece in front of Teal'c, a smaller but still reasonably-sized piece in front of Sam, and dropped a plate with a sliver of pie on it in front of Jack.

"Hey!" Jack complained. "This is blatant favoritism!"

"I made some hot chocolate while I was there. Figured what the hell." She set cups down in front of Daniel, Sam, and Teal'c. Daniel blinked, nonplussed, at the huge mound of marshmallows and whipped cream that adorned his cup.

"HEY!" Jack yelled.

"Oops," Mrs. Appleton said. "Only made three. I'm sorry, it must have slipped my mind. But it doesn't matter; it's not my job to bring crap to you people anyway." She started to leave.

"Old hag," Jack muttered.

"Oh! I almost forgot," she said, and produced a chocolate bar from her apron pocket. "I got this for you. You looked like you needed some chocolate." She smiled, patted Daniel on the head, and left.

Daniel stared after her. "You know," he said, "thinking about it, Jack, you may possibly have been right when you said she liked me."

"Really," Jack said sourly. "What was your first clue?" He took a bite of his inch-wide slice of pie.

"Wait, you hadn't noticed?" Sam laughed. "You seriously hadn't noticed!"

"I'm oblivious," Daniel muttered, and attempted to sip his hot chocolate without getting whipped cream on his nose. He failed abysmally.

"Oh, my God," Sam said, and cracked up. "You are justyou're like some sort of cosmic vortex of strangeness. Every single weird thing in the history of the universe happens to you."

Jack contemplated that. "She has a point."

"I noticed," Daniel said quietly. "Quite some time ago, actually."

"Really, someone shoulddo some experiments on you, or something. It's likein that book, the Infinite Improbability Drive? We could figure out how to make that by studying you."

"I hardly think it would have much practical value," Daniel said, still quiet and low.

"Still, for the sake of science" She laughed.

"I think you could get all the data on me you could ever possibly need from the medical department," Daniel said.

"It does seem rather improbable, on reflection," Teal'c said. "But I share Daniel Jackson's doubt that his... strange ability could produce any helpful or practical devices."

"She didn't give me any pie," Jack complained. "The old hag gave me a microscopis piece of pie. There's something wrong with her head. I should schedule a psych evaluation for 'er."

Daniel looked up. "That seems harsh."

"Well, it isn't. She's got problems."

"I like her," Daniel said.

"Big shock."

"Big shock," Aster muttered at the same moment, utterly guiltless about listening in. "Yeah, seriously, she treats him like he's her seven-year-old kid, the hell wouldn't he like her?" He gave his mop another shove.

"Damn higher-ranking people," Corell said. "They have no idea the scut work they get to avoid. They don't even remember it. You know?" He finished scrubbing the counter and threw the paper towel toward the trash can. It missed, as it always did.

"I don't care," Hatfield said. "I didn't kill the President, so I'm happy."

"If that's all it takes to make you happy," Corell said, "you're gonna have a pretty nice life."

Hatfield smiled. "Thanks!"

"Wasn't a compliment," Aster snorted.

"Yeah, actually," Corell said, an odd look on his face, "it was."

The base stayed up all night, and the people drained out slowly. Hatfield thought, for the first time, that maybe, just maybe, he could understand this place someday.

It felt a little bit like home.

(-) 


End file.
